


a guarantee of nearly endless possibilities (ViTri collection)

by PikaCheeka



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Bondage References, Car Sex, Frottage, M/M, Public Sex, drug references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6882142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of unrelated ViTri drabbles.<br/>Story 1 - Trip grinds down Virus' composure on the subway while on a visit to the mainland. (Explicit)<br/>Story 2 - Every morning, Virus counts the bitemarks on his thighs. (Mature)<br/>Story 3 - On Trip's first day home, Virus discovers the man he has become. (Teen) For ViTriweek.<br/>Story 4 - They have an unspoken agreement to always calm one another down. (Explicit)<br/>Story 5 - Trip's first attempt at dying his hair doesn't go well. Virus takes matters into his own hands. (General)<br/>Story 6 - Trip likes married women. Virus is unsure how he feels about this. (Mature)<br/>Story 7 - Trip's learning to adjust to human contact again. (General)<br/>Story 8 - For someone who prefers to work alone, Virus begs intimacy. (Teen)<br/>Story 9 - They have their own language behind the white walls of the institute. (General)<br/>Story 10 - Virus has a secret he doesn't want Trip to discover. (piercings! Teen)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Next stop (Explicit)

**Author's Note:**

> I am setting this up as a place to dump all my pwps, drabbles, and scenes that I couldn't fit into bigger fics because I have a lot of those. This one ended up being a lot longer than I expected, so I guess it's as good an intro to the collection as any. If anybody has any specific kink or something they want to see in ViTri, don't hesitate to throw it my way. I might get to it because these guys are fun to write.
> 
> For now, enjoy them fucking on the subway.  
> This one includes: public sex, frottage, references to bondages and drug usage, possible public humiliation if they were capable of being embarrassed.

 

He knows Trip is going to do something vile by the look on face and the way he casually surveys the subway car, but he doesn't know what, and he can't react to what he doesn't know. The car is crowded, the two of them forced to stand, without even spare room on the overhead bars for Virus to hold onto. He’s between the side of the car and Trip, who manages to take up enough space for three people with the way he hangs on the bar and the bulkiness of the hooded jacket he chose to wear today. Sometimes it irritates Virus, not because he thinks Trip should be decent to fellow passengers but because it causes others to stare at them, but on days like today, when he could use the extra space around them, he puts up with it.

And so he stays silent. He doesn’t dare speak, doesn’t want to bring attention to themselves either, as Trip drops one hand, runs it down Virus’ torso, slowly unbuckles his belt, unzips his fly, and roughly grabs him. He’s smiling that vulgar half-leer of his that Virus likes more than he will admit. That wide mouth has its uses. He doesn’t even breath, only clenches his teeth and wonders if Trip’s going to jerk him off. His hand is warm and firm and inviting and he can already feel his dick stirring.

Trip shifts his weight then, moving closer, pushing him flat against the wall as he turns his body just enough to hide him from the view of most everyone else in the car, and as he suddenly lets go of him, Virus understands. _Not just jerking him off._ He draws himself out slowly. Virus realizes he had his belt unbuckled and his fly unzipped already, and he’s silently thankful that Trip chose today to wear that long jacket.

But he doesn’t have long to be reflect on the matter, as the younger man presses against him then, catching both their organs in one hand and squeezing them together a moment. He’s fully erect already, and the hard warmth, damp with sweat, pressed against his the underside of his dick and rubbing against his balls makes Virus jerk his hands back, spread fingers over the wall behind him. _This._ Trip knows he can’t handle this, knows full well that between the physical sensations and the awareness of how much thicker Trip is that he can’t avoid when they do this. _He’s going to make me come in front of everyone._ He glares at him, at once intrigued and disgusted, but Trip only arches his eyebrows, shrugs, keeps grinning.

All irritation is forgotten quickly enough once he begins to move. He keeps a slow pace, leisurely snapping his hips in a small yet forceful circle, sliding his hand roughly up and down their shafts and running his thumb over slits already beading with pre-come, never taking his eyes off him. If anyone around them notices, Virus can’t tell, because the rest of the world rapidly falls away as all focus is centered on that heat and friction between them. Fingers white against the wall now as he struggles to refrain from thrusting into Trip. _Let him do everything. He was the one who started it._

The fingers don’t last, and just as suddenly as he’d begun, Trip is holding the bar above them again with both hands. Virus opens his mouth, almost protests, but catches himself in time, because he feels what he is doing. Using the leverage to grind even _harder_ against him. He shudders, bites his lip. He wants to close his eyes against the pressure building behind them, but Trip isn't even blinking and his lazy grin makes Virus feel unexpectedly vulnerable. He doesn't dare take his eyes off him, doesn't trust him to not take any momentary lapse in his attention as an excuse to suddenly flip him over and start fucking him against the wall. _Pull his pants down and spread his ass and shove into him right in front of everyone..._ the moan escapes him before he can catch it, soft and imperceptible to everyone but Trip himself, but enough. Enough to bring a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he quickens the pace.

He’s good at what he does. He can be subtle when he wants to be, moving his hips just enough to make Virus gasp, to rub his dick up and over the older man’s with every thrust, but not enough for people casually glancing their way to notice he’s moving any more than someone standing on a swaying subway car might. It occurs to Virus that this was all calculated, hence the long and bulky jacket, the way he waited until the longest stretch between stops on the line, and the thought somehow excites him even more. He’d take him from behind – _press him against the wall and run his hand up his chest, pinch his nipples through his shirt and nose the back of his neck as he breathed against him and drag him slowly over his cock and slam deep,_ deep _into him_. Finally daring to close his eyes, he makes the move to push back against Trip, the sudden increased pressure sending sparks behind his eyes and down his spine. He can feel the arousal singing in his fingertips and running down the sides of his organ now as he begins to leak profusely.

Trip leans forward as Virus approaches climax, pressing the full length of his body up against him, offering his shoulder as a much-needed chance to hide his face and his hand as a much-needed shield to catch most of his come. He jerks his hips in a few, short, well-calculated, and violent grinds as he does this, and even in his distracted haze Virus can’t help but marvel at how coordinated and easy Trip makes everything seem.

He’s barely able to stifle a cry when he orgasms. He bucks forward hard, finally thrusting up against Trip, letting his head run over the bundle of nerves on the underside of his organ as he comes. Trip is a grinning, solid force against him, a barrier between him and the rest of the world he cares nothing for, in much the same way as he's always been.

“Slut,” Trip whispers. He says it absently enough, but there is a hint of something uncouth in his voice, a lust and a dominance, and Virus knows that this was just another page in the long file of ways in which Trip owns him and, he supposes, he owns him in return.

He doesn’t respond, only steadies his breathing as he presses his face against Trip’s jacket. He isn’t going to deny it, not when the very sound of that voice insulting him makes him dizzy with need, not when he was able to orgasm just from a quick frot, not when his knees are shaking and his knuckles are white, not with his come coating Trip’s hand now pressed against the plane of his stomach beneath his shirt, not when he’s still half-hard from imagining his dick sunk deep inside of him. No, he doesn’t respond, and instead allows himself to think back to the last time Trip had called him that. _Four nights ago. A new drug on the streets and in their bloodstreams. A blindfold over his eyes and sweat pooling beneath the latex around his torso. Pressure around his wrists and the base of his cock where he was bound and ringed. Trip laughing as he left bruising kisses over his thighs and tongued his ass before shoving three fingers in at once. He’d whispered it then, when he’d…_

“Yo. Get it together. Stop’s next.” Trip interrupts him; he is composed, clean, all traces of come on him wiped on the insides of his pockets, if Virus can guess from past experience. Though he had been just as hard as him only moments ago, he hadn’t even come.  

“Next time, stick it in me.” His voice is shaking more than he’d like it to but he still manages to tuck himself away, zip his fly, fix his belt, rearrange his clothing.

“On the train?”

Virus nods, not trusting himself to speak again.

Trip shrugs, raises his eyebrows and looks up and to the side, as if thinking. “We have to go to Tennoji district Tuesday anyway.”

 

 


	2. Obviously (Mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every morning, Virus counts the bitemarks on his thighs. (Mature)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been prepping for my exams so I haven't done much writing in the last week, but I am still taking prompts/suggestions for anything ViTri (seriously I am open to pretty much anything with them barring a very few concepts) that I can start soon! I have one request in queue now. Anyway, this drabble is maybe two weeks old, and written on a time limit. The usual culprits were the ones who gave me the suggestion, as I recall. Just a quick little semi-smutty piece.

He feels lips ghost up his inner thigh, every kiss applying more pressure until Trip is forcibly sucking on him, fingers lazily running circles around his other leg. He's too tired tonight for this, but he makes no move to stop as the kisses continue. It'd been a long day, and he has to admit Trip knows how to please him as he slowly massages his thighs with tongue and fingers. He traces his own fingers over the sheets, resisting the urge to clench them and let Trip know how much he's enjoying this as his mind wanders to what other things he can do with those lips, that tongue. It would have been better to go to bed without underwear at all, he realizes as the younger man edges closer to his briefs. The trace of a smile finds its way to his face.

Until he feels teeth. White-knuckled now, he kicks out reflexively, tries to close his legs to no avail. Trip doesn't even flinch, merely looks up at him with heavy lidded eyes.

Virus knows that look well. "Trip, what are you doing?"

"Good night kiss," he mumbles against Virus' skin. "Obviously."

"That was a bite."

"Same thing." Trip shrugs, lifting his thighs slightly as he does. Virus catches the way his eyes follow him. Yes, he knows that look very well.

He sighs and leans back. So much for getting sleep tonight.

"You like it," Trip's laughing now, low in his throat so that Virus can feel it moreso than hear it.

It doesn't matter now if he clenches and twists his fingers in the sheets as Trip crawls up onto the bed, pulling Virus' legs with him, and settles between his thighs. Even if he could shove him away, he'd be back within seconds. Besides, he bites his lip and closes his eyes, he likes when Trip pampers him, plays with the sensitive skin of his thighs like this. The second time he feels teeth, he only gasps, air hissing through gritted teeth as he arches his back and pulls at the sheets beneath him. Trip's thumbs rub slow circles on the undersides of his thighs as he bites him again and again. It's a hot night but the air is cool against the wetness he laves over his skin, and Virus is finding it difficult to breathe. Trip rarely takes his time, Virus usually being the one to drag out the foreplay as the younger man grows increasingly impatient. And so as he moves upward then and lazily noses his growing erection, Virus struggles to hold still. Trip hums contentedly against him.

It is only when Trip throws himself on top of him after several agonizing minutes, that suddenly Virus can breathe again.

"Three on each leg."

"Good to know I'm symmetrical."

"Heh." Fingers digging into his hips. Virus sighs. There's going to bruises in the morning there, too. He wonders absently when the last time was when he didn't have marks somewhere on his body, but before he can think on it further, Trip speaks again. "Mmm…wanna fuck now?"

"Obviously."


	3. a noncommittal  “hm” (rated T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Trip's first day home, Virus discovers the man he has become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short drabble for ViTri week, Day 2! Prompts of Education/Cohabitation. It's a Vitri event on Tumblr this July. Late entries are welcome so please feel free to check it out (vitri-week.tumblr.com). UNRELATED TO THE FIRST TWO STORIES! But it does include Virus' pec fetish, which I have written about before.

He  remembers then, the first time Virus had taken notice of his chest, the day the older man had come to retrieve him from the institute and bring him home. In the dark safety of the apartment, of his new room, Virus had sighed and matter-of-factly began stripping him. Trip only moved when prodded to, and let him do as he wished. He’d been disoriented at his newfound freedom and delirious from being near the white light of Virus again, had happily stood still while he touched him all over.

The entire affair had been clinical, cold fingers prodding at every centimeter of his body and moving his arms and legs and head as if he were a doll. It was the same sort of examination that made Trip howl in rage and lash out, break bones and draw blood and fantasize about killing everyone in the room, but because it was Virus, it was quite acceptable, even wanted. He’d never known if he was examining him for the injuries he’d sustained in their time apart, or if he’d simply wanted to know how much Trip’s body had changed in that time, but it hardly mattered to him. Virus had run his fingers through his pubic hair and gently stroked the red fuzz of his armpits, making a noncommittal  “hm” as if to acknowledge that Trip was growing into a man. It was one of two times he’d shown any reaction, not even blinking when he traced the new surgical scars on his abdomen and the stitches on his forehead from when he’d smashed his face against the wall of his yet-to-padded cell and the bruises covering his body. Virus had taken his injuries with a stoicism that Trip had never seen him without until that moment. The second time he reacted to him.  When his fingers swept from beneath his arms to over his chest, lingering over his already apparent pectoral muscles. Even when they were children, it had been obvious that Trip would be bigger than Virus, not much taller, but certainly wider and heavier and more muscular, thick bones and an aptitude for gaining weight that made the doctors uneasy as it only made him more difficult to handle. Then, at twenty, Virus had long since stopped growing, while Trip was only just becoming. Virus had known it then, had seen who and what Trip would one day become as he padded his fingers over his chest, and he’d leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against him.

It hadn’t been a kiss. That didn’t happen until much later. It had only been a touch, Virus ghosting his lips over his chest for the barest of moments before flicking his tongue out and leaning back. He hadn’t met Trip’s eyes afterwards, only handed him a pile of new clothing and turned on his heel and left the room. They never mentioned it, but Trip never forgot, and he suspected Virus was no different.


	4. Composure (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have an unspoken agreement to always calm one another down. (Explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a really short & quick drabble (and bang) about car sex and their weird relationship! Couldn't work it into any larger fics so I figured I'd dump it here. A big thank you to everyone who has read/kudosed/subscribed/bookmarked this collection so far. I had no idea there were so many ViTri fans out there hell yea.

 He doesn't react when Trip takes him, bodily pulls him from the passenger's seat into his lap and unbuckles his belt, unceremoniously rips his pants and underwear down. Trip works fast, his hands moving with a practiced ease indicating he's done this often, one around Virus' dick and the other slipping beneath him. Virus jerks against him when he presses two fingers inside without warning and without ceremony, thighs trembling and a wordless moan escaping as he leans back into the wall of Trip's chest and arches his neck. The white column of throat distracts the younger man for a moment, undulating as Virus breathes in fast, sharp gasps on his shoulder; he can feel the dampness on his own neck.

He fucks him hard, savoring the whimper of pain that he lets out, the way his knee jerks against the steering wheel and the way his ass clenches and shudders when he forces a third finger in. He's rougher than he would be normally, but the circumstances don't allow for either of them to care much about comfort. Virus doesn't resist, eyes shining with tears as his gasps and moans increase in crescendo and he grinds down on the fingers rubbing his prostate, thrusts up into the hands jerking him off. He comes within a time that is hardly a record for him but noteworthy nonetheless, and Trip grins as he stores this away; he's good at what he does and every time Virus makes that shuddering cry, bitten back and gleaming white in his mind, he is reminded of this. He holds him as he comes down from the orgasm, presses his face to the back of his neck and inhales his scent when Virus leans forward, fragile and open to whatever Trip might do.

"Thanks." He finally speaks, a tap of his fingers on Trip's arm, still wrapped around him. All the acknowledgement he will give on their agreement long ago, that if Virus ever seemed about to lose his composure, get angry, Trip should distract him. Even if it meant pulling over in an alley at 2 am after a bad deal and more missing cash than they cared to admit to their boss, Virus snapping out words as if poison in the passenger seat, that rare anger seething in its potency until his partner intervened.

There's no need for Trip to reply. "I want to stick my dick in you," he says instead, rolls his hips as he does. If he hadn't already been aroused, seeing Virus this vulnerable would have done it. Seeing him lose control not once but twice in a single night, for very different reasons, is too much for him to be satisfied with merely watching Virus climax.

"Yea," he breathes, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and gently touching Trip's hand again, this time to tell him to let go so that he might turn to nuzzle into Trip's throat. "Just give me a few minutes."

Trip only grins and reclines the seat.

 


	5. Blonde (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's first attempt at dying his hair doesn't go well. Virus has to take matters into his own hands. (General)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a very busy time regarding work and school; I haven't had time to write another new recently, and won't have time for another few weeks most likely, so I'm posting an older drabble for now! It's a little embarrassing how much ViTri fic I have on reserve.

 

"I need highlights. This color," he said warily, dropping the lock of hair onto the counter at the hair salon.

Last night, Virus had come home from a late Yakuza meeting to Trip sitting on the bathroom floor with a garbage bag tied around his head and chemical burns on his hands, listening to music embarrassingly loud and humming to himself. He hadn't seemed hurt, despite the burns, and had smiled eagerly at Virus before pulling the bag off to show him the new hair.

He shouldn't have been surprised, not after Trip pierced his own ears and bought matching pairs for the two of them, but he was. His deep red hair was gone, bleached to a peculiar, uneven shade of blonde. Even his eyebrows. Virus didn't want to think too deeply on how he had managed that; perhaps their synthetic eyes were impervious to bleach, not that he had any interest in testing that theory. Yes, he was surprised, though he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he'd fixed the mess as best he could, even trimmed his hair and redirected his part the exact way Trip had asked while biting back any comments he had about the matter. It was obvious enough why he had done it; some things between them just didn't require an explanation. The problem was that, in classic Trip form, he hadn't thought it through. Simply bleaching his hair wasn't going to give him the same pale blonde of Virus', especially not when his hair was as naturally dark as it was.

It would be too difficult to find dye that matched his hair perfectly, and it would be even more difficult to get Trip to sit still at a hair salon at his current age, fourteen, and restlessness. Better to take care of it himself. He'd said nothing about it though, only washed his hands and told Trip to shut up when he'd whined that it needed to be a little lighter. Then he'd given him a cup of tea and shoved him off to bed at 2:47 in the morning before turning in himself.

The hairstylest nodded then, broke him from his reverie as he gestured towards the nearest chair. "Shouldn't take more than twenty minutes. Luckily it's slow this time of day."

 _More than lucky._ If there had been a wait, Virus would have casually mentioned a few names he knew this man would prefer not to remember. It was easy enough to bully people who tried to flee from the criminal underworld, almost too easy, but they had their uses. Virus checked his Coil absently. Only 8:16. The drugs he'd given Trip should last a good eight hours. Trip slept heavily, but was an early riser regardless of when he fell asleep, and Virus wasn't particularly interested in him finding out what he was doing this morning.

"It has to look exactly like that."

"Yea, yea. This from your Allmate?"

The question was so stupid it startled him. He looked up at the mirror and studied the man behind him, wondered absently what he was so carefully hiding with his hair in his face like that. "No...?"

"Ohhh?" he grinned. "A girlfriend?"

"Please stop talking."

"I knew it."

"Stop." He closed his eyes to avoid having to see that insipid wink and sighed, wondering if maybe he'd need to throw those names around after all.

\--

If Trip noticed anything had been amiss in how he slept past 10 am, he said nothing, only stumbled into the kitchen wearing only a Morphine hoodie and briefs and threw himself into the chair beside Virus. He was uncomfortably close, and staring far too intently, but the older man did his best to ignore him as he swiped through the news on his Coil and sipped his coffee.

"Ehhhh?" Trip suddenly voiced, catching a few strands of Virus' hair in his fingers.

Virus finally leaned away from him and kept reading.

But Trip continued tugging at his hair, nonplussed. "Seems darker."

"That's nice."

He shrugged and let go of Virus before touching his own hair, pulling a lock in front of his eyes and studying it a moment before responding. "Yea. 'S nice."

Virus hid his smile behind his mug. Some things between them just didn't require an explanation.

 


	6. Shave (Mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip likes married women. Virus isn't sure how he feels about this. (Mature)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave up putting warnings on ViTri fics a while ago because the fact that it's a ViTri fic should be warning enough, but I will say that this fic discusses underage sex and incest, so read at your own risk.

 

"No, no...I said..."

Virus hesitates at the doorway, unsure if he should walk in or not. It isn't because he worries about Trip's privacy, a concept that neither have ever been particularly concerned about, but because he wants to hear what he's saying and he doesn't know how the younger man will respond to an interruption. And so he stands just outside the dining room and listens to his work partner's phone conversation.

"I'm busy. I got a work, ya know."

He gently mouths the grammatical correction but doesn't speak aloud, and bites back the grin at Trip's clear agitation.

"I thought we..." He makes a growling sound and Virus can envision his expression perfectly. Exasperation. Confusion. "Ain't my problem though."

He knows Trip well enough by now to know what a conversation when is over, when the tone of his voice reaches maximum impatience and he bails from whatever social discourse he'd been engaged in. Virus steps into the dining room and places Trip's coffee down, perhaps harder than intended, just as he hears a "Yea yea whatever. Bye."

Trip drops the phone to the table before sighing and shoveling another bite of breakfast in. A bowl of kid cereal. He doesn't look at Virus but raises a finger in thanks at the caffeine.

"She's married." Virus doesn't ask, only comments.

"Bitches-" and Virus' fingers twitch when he hears that word from Trip's mouth, "...like her why I waste so much cash on burner phones," but he doesn't seem particular angry, only tired.

Virus blinks, digesting this slowly. He knew Trip had quite the collection, but he'd assumed they were for drug deals. Work. Then again, he'd had his own share of aggressive clients thumbing through his phone and he knew full well that sometimes, simply having multiple numbers wasn't enough. Having a dozen blank slates at the bottom of his closet had its benefits. "You do this often? Screw married women?"

"Ya," he shrugs as he finishes the last of his cereal and inhales the coffee Virus had placed in front of him. "I like attached women. Don't want 'em clinging to me after but sometimes..." he rolls his eyes.

Virus only stares, unsure how to absorb the fact that apparently, married women like him enough to keep calling back. Trip's massive for his age at 178 centimeters and 69 kilograms. He doesn't shave yet, though Virus knows it will be any day now, but he carries a jaw so chiseled and shoulders so wide that he exudes testosterone and violence. Bigger and wider, more muscular than Virus despite being six years younger. And sleeping with married women. It's a bizarre concept, especially as Virus knows full well how little Trip enjoys human contact. He knew he'd been having sex but not like this. But then Virus remembers being that age, sucking dick and bending over for half the doctors at the institute, and by then it wasn't always because he was drugged or coerced. Maybe they aren't so different after all.

"What if you hook up with your ma?"

"Didn't think of that," he scratches his chin and looks pensive for half a second before laughing. "I wouldn't know her. You recognize yours?"

"Nope."

"Maybe I banged her." He grins, too many teeth showing. "Be like fucking half of you. I wonder..."

He feels something akin to horror, something akin to arousal, shift inside of him and he tenses, inwardly curses himself for the reaction. This is territory he hadn't anticipated, hadn't expected to ever become an issue, certainly not so soon. "It's possible," he replies evenly. "How many have there been?"

"Dunno, don't keep count."

"They know how old you are?"

"Just add a year or two. It gets some women excited, thinkin' they're with a derelict high schooler. You know how it is, ya?"

"It was a little different for me but yea."

Trip tilts his head before nodding.

Virus is unsure of how much he knows about what he did back then, what he does now. He'd never made any effort to hide it from him, nor had he ever sat him down to explain it either. It would come up eventually, he supposes, or it wouldn't, and Trip would figure it out in his own silent way. There's no need to say anything about it, so instead he licks his lips and tightens his grip on the mug of coffee. If Trip can satisfy married women three times his age... "Do they say what they like about you?"

Trip smirks then, showing the dimple on his left cheek as he speaks with only the center of his lips, a habit that Virus knows will do nothing but make him increasingly uncomfortable as Trip grows into his face. "You're pretty into my sex life."

"It's something to talk about. We live together. It's natural to know." He isn't sure if this is true. Other than a few awkward weeks with Takahashi when he'd first left the facility, his only experience with living with anyone was with Trip. What small fragments of his life prior to the institute shored upon his mind are hardly useful for determining what is or isn't natural in a home.

"They like my dick. And my muscles. But they say I ain't too scary for them yet, like I'm still a cute kid or something."

"They haven't seen you kill anyone."

"Like you have." He's leaning against the table now, chin propped up in his hand as he gazes at Virus without blinking through half-closed eyes. Smug.

Virus sips at his coffee and grins back. "I've seen those muscles in action. Not the dick though."

"Don't sound disappointed."

He can't remember the last time he'd felt the heat rising in his face, but he knows it isn't quite enough to be visible yet. "You go with girls your age too, yea?"

"Ya." He tilts his coffee cup sideways, empty, and Virus catches himself staring at the size of his hands as Trip continues, "But even then I like 'em older. Four or five years, six. People my age are boring."

"I'm six years older." He says it without thinking. He'd learned long ago that this is something that happens around Trip, a rift in his conscious behavior allowed only for the younger man across the table. And in the silence that follows, he considers his next question. He's been curious about this for longer than he cares to admit, curious about Trip in general, the enigma he's shared his life with these last eight years, one who played the role of adult more than he'd realized. "You ever do weird stuff with any of them?"

"I think my weird is less than your weird." There's that grin again, crooked and dimpled, and when Virus feels something twist in his gut he's unsure if it's the glint of teeth or the words. When did he start smiling like that at him? And when did he become so vicious?

"Ah..." he bites his lip. "You hear stuff about me sometimes."

"Yup. Interesting stuff." He's not giving an inch, and the older man feels that edge of warmth rise in his face again. Trip has the uncanny ability to leave him uncertain.

Virus raises the mug to his face before he realizes it's empty, and merely tongues the rim for a moment before making his move. Three steps forward and around the table, he lifts one leg and seats half his ass between Trip's face and the empty cereal bowl, catches Trip's chin none too gently in his hand and studies his eyes, mirrored against his own. He remembers Trip's earlier words, _Be like fucking half of you_ , and he chooses his own with care, but they bring with them a lack of caution and a discrepancy in the lilt of his voice. "Ever tried an older man?"

Throughout all of this, Trip hadn't moved, and now he remains silent, only raises an eyebrow and rubs his face into Virus' hand. And Virus is momentarily paralyzed at the sight of Trip nuzzling him, as close as he is, the feel of his breath against the palm of his hand. It's been a long time since he'd slapped his hand over his face to silence him or stop him from biting someone else, but at least that would have been familiar. At least that wouldn't be this stirring at the base of his spine that leaves Virus drained, excited, and disoriented all at once.

As he traces a finger down his jawline, he notices it, and the realization cracks through whatever it is he's unwilling to act on yet. "Hey."

Trip makes an incoherent sound that might be regret, longing, his eyes following Virus' hand as it drops to his side.

"You need to shave."


	7. Dead skin cells (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's learning to adjust to human contact again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for so much young!ViTri content in this drabble collection. I have so many ideas for these guys but most of my ideas for them when younger are too short to be proper fics, whereas when they're older the drabbles often turn into larger stories. They're about 14 and 20 here. I'm working on a longer ViTri fic right now, so I will post drabbles now and then until I finish!

"Can I still touch you?"

"Huh."

"The doctors said you got bad again. That they always had to sedate you and no one could touch you," but even as he says it he reaches a hand out, holds it mere centimeters from his shoulder. His fingers don't tremble; they never have around Trip, not even when he used to be afraid of him, when he kept waiting to be hit.

Trip watches those fingers for several long seconds before clearing his throat and shrugging with one shoulder, the one that Virus isn't near. He isn't used to being asked what he wants after all this time so he merely stares at the older man. He looks almost the same as when he left two years ago, his face still childish, familiar, and Trip is quietly relieved. "You're okay." 

Virus accepts the invitation and pushes, immediately breaks down whatever hangs in the air between them as he always does. Virus never merely does what he is told. He excels at taking advantage of situations, of making them his own, of taking the slightest permissions and stretching until it suits his needs. Because within seconds of laying his hand on his shoulder, he's running his fingers down his arm, pressing and pinching at the muscle already apparent in his biceps before curling around his forearm, circling his wrist and stroking his palm with those delicate white fingers that strayed through Trip's dreams the last two years. Trip doesn't know what makes him close his fingers over Virus', but when he does, Virus laughs, squeezes his fingers for the briefest of moments before pulling away. It is a separation that Trip feels in the roots of his being. 

"What do you want to eat your first night?"

"What do you usually eat?" He rubs his hands together, thinks of the dead skin cells Virus probably left on him, and tries not to look.

"I eat out. But I don't know...you just got out and I know you don't like crowds so I could go get something. Bring it back."

He doesn't acknowledge the gratitude he feels, doesn't let on that Virus being concerned about his comfort makes him feel warm. He might just not want Trip to misbehave in public, after all. "You don't cook, eh." 

"Just cup ramen," he grins as his eyes wander, and Trip abruptly pulls his sleeves down to cover his hands. 

"Okay."

"Really? I think I have the spicy kind. We never got spicy shit in there..." he trails off before abruptly changing topics. "Hey, you ever have beer? Nobody monitors what we watch now. We can watch X-rated stuff. Do you still like the kind with the Nissin chicken on the package? I even-"

"Virus," he stops him before he can go any further. Virus, awkward and excited, babbling about seven different things at once. He remembers Virus talking to himself with extreme regularity back then, and wonders if he spent the last two years muttering alone in this apartment while Trip stared at white walls fifty kilometers and an immeasurable span away, and devoured silence. Two years he can now forget. "I'll eat whatever you eat. Whatever's here already."

He exhales in what might be a laugh and touches him again, darting a hand out to poke the sleeve of Trip's sweatshirt, still pulled tightly around hand. And then he withdraws, stands and stretches. "Don't go anywhere."

Trip watches him leave, and the dust that his voice left shifts and resettles around him, lingering in his fingertips, resonating in those dead skin cells that remain. There's nowhere he would go.


	8. Sensitive (Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For someone who prefers to work alone, Virus begs intimacy. (Teen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a loose sequel to "Dead Skin Cells", the drabble immediately beforehand, though it can be read alone, of course. Just a bit more on the "Trip just got out of the institute and is getting used to life with Virus again" theme. 
> 
> This drabble is dedicated to Mihael, who has been reading my ViTri fics all along. Thank you!

Five cup ramen and a package of frozen gyoza later, Virus tilts the last drops of his third beer down his throat. "Good thing I had that grapefruit chuhai lying around, huh. I guess I remember you like grapefruit."

Trip mumbles something indistinct in reply. He'd only had half of it, keenly aware of how sensitive he was and far more interested in junk food and the way Virus' glasses steamed up because he leaned too far over his ramen. He still talked with his mouth full, while Trip's jaw felt strained, exhausted from unexpectedly speaking again after nearly two years. He wonders if Virus knows he relapsed back into selective mutism while he was gone, if he would tell the truth if Virus asked. 

"Do you want to do anything?"

"Sleep."

"I set the second bedroom up a little."

He nods but doesn't move. He hadn't even looked at the rest of the apartment, been too overwhelmed by the new sights and sounds and smells, and he isn't interested in looking now. Leaning back against the armrest, he settles deeper into the couch, "Here's okay."

"Can you move a bit then? I want...." but he doesn't say what he wants, only lays a hand on Trip's thigh and looks at him over his glasses.

Trip recalls the feeling of Virus' hand in his earlier that evening and understands, shifting his weight to make space. Virus is on him then, before he even has a chance to vocalize a reply, worming his way into the hollow between the back of the couch and Trip's body, and the younger boy finds himself holding his breath. Two years of a sheer lack of intimacy, of any and all human contact resulting in violence either done to him or by him, and now suddenly there is (him) stretched out against his body. 

"You're still so warm. But so much bigger. I used to think you'd get fat, you know, but you're okay." His hands are everywhere as he speaks, chatters on for what seems like several minutes before he abruptly sighs, and adds, "I like the warmth."

There is the faintest of trembling in him now, a twitch in the fingers he now presses into Trip's armpits and a purr in his voice as he sighs again. It's the same subtle shift in his guard that Trip remembers from so many years ago, when the bandages finally fell from Virus' eyes and they released him back to the dorms and after nearly six weeks they were able to sleep together again, no longer limited to timed afternoon visits, under watchful eyes that would critique and assess their every touch. And Virus, who always claimed that he liked working alone and never needed anyone, had pressed up against him on the cot and sighed in contentment and mumbled that Trip was a furnace. 

Trip squirms a moment, finally daring to breath, to move again. He clenches his arms down, trapping Virus' fingers and stilling the discomfort growing in the pit of his stomach. "Stop moving them. Your hands are still freezing."

"Are you ticklish? You didn't used to be..." his voice is faintly slurred. 

"Dunno, it's sensitive."

"Hm."

He can tell by the way Virus clicks his tongue and lowers his eyes that he knows. He suddenly remembers Virus muting the television, switching to subtitles when Trip had flinched over a particularly loud sound. Muscle memory longing to lash out at anything unexpected, and Virus acutely aware of every twitch and tightening of his body. It's only natural that Virus would recognize this, too. Because while Trip is used to this closeness, it has been two long years, and his body has changed much in that time. At fourteen, his body is far more aware of Virus' scent, of his breath, of how his sweatshirt rode up when he lay down, and of how he'd calmly told him that the soft lounge pants he wore were more comfortable without underwear, than it had been two years ago, and he wonders absently how often they will end up sharing a bed in the coming years. He knows without Virus saying anything that they will stay here tonight, that they will fall asleep a tangled mess on the couch and wake up with sore backs and numb arms and stinking of each other. It's been a long time since they've been able to do that. 

He also knows that something is shifting between them, if not now then in the future, but it is surely inevitable, and he supposes that if it's Virus, he can live with that.


	9. dictionary (general)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have their own language behind the white walls of the institute. (General)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little drabble with ViTri as children (I don't think I ever wrote them this young before) while I finish up something for Trip's birthday! I have some reservations about how tacky this one is but writing children was a fun challenge, especially such weird children.

E- 31337 pushes the last few bites of omurice aimlessly around his plate. The rice is too dry, the omelet defrosted, tasteless. He can’t remember ever having eaten good food, not that the quality of their rations stops the boy next to him, who had wolfed his portion down within a minute and now sits there, chin on the table and shoulders hunched, staring at nothing. _07734_. He finally puts his fork down. “Why don’t you talk?”

There’s a long second or two before he responds with a shrug. His voice is low for his age, raspy. “Hard.”

It makes sense.  He hadn’t known the redhaired boy could talk at all until he’d said a few words to him last week. He’d heard about him quite a bit over the last few months, the new boy, vicious, violent, stupid, mute, even deaf, though he now knows neither of those latter accusations to be true, and, he suspects, the suspicion of stupidity is equally unwarranted. His vocal chords simply don’t get enough exercise. “So why don’t you practice? It will be less difficult then.”

“Hate everyone.”

A simple enough answer, one he understands well, and he finds himself curious. He picks up his fork again and finishes, chewing slowly while he considers what to say next. They have all the time in the world, at least until one of them gets killed in an experiment gone bad, he figures.  Finally  he asks, “Can you sign?”

The boy just stares at him. It’s infuriating, really, how much he stares.

“Like this?” a few rapid movements of his hands, jerky and hesitant, “I only know a little.” But there’s no reaction in the smaller boy, only a continued blank stare, and E- 31337 sighs. He picks at his dessert next, a fruit jelly, whipped cream and a few sad red beans on top, a half-assed reminder that there is an entire country beyond these walls. The boy beside him had eaten his in between bites of his omurice, as if it were a side dish and not at afterthought. He can barely speak, apparently can’t sign either. This is too much work, this conversation; why is he bothering? There’s no reason to speak to him. Yet still he contemplates.

-

That evening, when they have a rare free time session, the younger boy finds him again, sits next to him in the corner of the room, and stares absently at the stack of books beside them. As usual, he says nothing, doesn’t even make eye contact, doesn’t even acknowledge that anyone else is there. There’s a fresh bandage on the knuckles of his left hand, and E- 31337 wonders absently who or what he punched since he’d last seen him at lunchtime.

The older boy doesn’t wait long before gesturing to him, turning the book he is reading to face him. “Japanese sign language is easy if you just do this. See? This is called yubimoji. You use your hands to talk instead. Just memorize what every sign is for each syllable, and then you don’t have to use your voice.”

The red-haired boy stares at the pages for a long moment before asking, “You know this?”

“No. But I can learn it, too. It’s easy.” He’s not sure if it’s easy, to memorize or to use, and he’s irritated that the boy would bring to his attention that he would have to learn it with him, that he’d be making a momentous effort for another person.

He’s flipping the pages now, pointing to more complicated signs, for full words. “What’re all these?”

“Forget those. Just learn the ones for the kana. Only fifty or so. We can add words and phrases, stuff we use a lot, and we’ll make our own signs for them. That way nobody can figure it out.” There’s an urgency to his voice, a paranoia he feels seep into the words despite his attempt to control it, and he realizes then that perhaps the reason he wants to learn this is because it’s secret, something _theirs_. Only later will he understand that he was already seeing them as a unit.

“Huh,” it’s barely a reaction, but he looks interested at least.

He hesitates, hand poised over the page. A thought suddenly hits him. “Can you read?”

The boy abruptly sits back on his heels, hands right around his ears. It’s an unexpected reaction, a baffling one.

“Why are you doing that?”

“You say read.”

“That’s hear. Don’t be stupid.” But he’s interested despite himself. He’d heard rumors, stories of the violent red-haired boy whose brain didn’t work normally. He had just assumed it meant stupid, not actual miswired neurons, and suddenly all of his odd behavior makes more sense. He files that thought away, considers what he can ask him later, once they can speak regularly, once he’s older and more reasonable. “Read, like what’s this say?”

He leans forward, hands still over his ears as he frowns at the page, but he relaxes after a moment. “Read only a little bit.”

“No kanji?”

“Nuh uh.”

He sighs. This might be even more work than he’d expected, and again he questions himself, wonders why he is going so far because a child latched onto him. “Okay. Forget it. Doesn’t matter. I’ll read it to you. As I was saying, we should make up signs for words we use a lot, so we can talk faster and more privately.” He’s not sure what entails _a lot_ , seeing as the younger boy has spoken maybe fifty words to him total since they have met, but he pushes onwards. “Faster and more secret. What words do you want special signs for? I’ll write them in kana for now.”

There’s a long silence then, and E- 31337 wonders is he over-estimated him, assumed he was smarter or more interested than he really is; just when he feels it has gone on long enough, when he’s about to suggest they work more on it tomorrow or forget it entirely, the boy speaks, his voice scarcely a whisper. “ _Hurt_.”

A silence descends upon them, one so stifling the larger boy can feel it on his skin, in his veins. It isn’t a good first word, but he writes it all the same, feeling as he marks the paper that he is somehow marking himself.

He goes on then, “Mad. Scared. Bad food.” As he continues, his tremulous whisper takes on a certainty and a viciousness as he gains control of his voice. “Hate that one. Don’t wanna talk today. Really bad shot.“

It takes him a moment, and the redhead another dozen phrases, before he picks it up, turning each word over on his tongue. “Bad surgery. Safe to take.” The boy grins then, and it’s the first time he’s ever seen him do so. He realizes then, that it’s been a long time since he’s ever felt encouraged, hopeful, and he pushes forward. “Stop that. Fake feeling okay. Don’t take that pill.”

“Tired. Wanna leave. That one’s okay.”

 “The eye surgery. “ A monster looming over him as he approaches the age of fourteen, distracting him from the next several phrases and words he throws out there. And then one he catches himself saying, “Watch out for that one.”

“Ehh?”

“Like, a really bad doctor. Forget it. You don’t need to know that one.” Because sometimes he forgets what different lives they lead despite wearing the same collars, and he finds himself fingering his own as he continues. “Death. Bad sickness, like one where you’re scared you’ll die. Then less sick. Will be in surgery.”  

“Got inna fight. Wanna hit that one. Wanna _kill_ that one.” Then, abruptly, “Glasses. White. Pretty.”

He freezes. “Why do we need that?”

The boy looks down then, puts a finger in his mouth and rocks on his heels a moment before finally pointing slowly at him. “Don’t got names. Hate the numbers.”

“Ah,” he sits back then.  “We’ll work on that. Can’t just pick random words for that, can we?”

The boy shrugs. Apparently that’s not an issue for him.

“They should at least be English words then. You’re white, yea? You got to be Irish with that hair. _Do you know any English?_ ”

“Nuh uh.”

“Okay. Later. “ He stops, looks at the list on the paper. He hadn’t written the last words down, because he at once does and doesn’t know what they mean. Better to ignore them for now. The list is already impressive, nearly fifty words and phrases of isolation and violence and despair. “Well look at this, a dictionary of much pain.”

“Turn it around.”

Another strange comment, and it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow, to ask, “Huh.”

“Make it ‘bout us. We’re…doers? Dunno the word.”

There’s another long silence as he stares at the distant coldness in the other’s eyes. _Hurt_. There’s something about him. He’d wondered why he was bothering earlier. Now he knows, and a sense of wonderment arises. Not an object, not a passivity. An _action_. Performed by _us_. “Okay, I get it. I’ll save this. Hide it in my mattress and we’ll keep adding to it. Make up signs. Practice. It’s our language, our dictionary of sadism.”

Another grin. _There’s no way he can know that word_ , the older boy thinks, but the acceptance and gratification on his face is clear.

He sits back and pauses then, considers, before putting the book and paper back down as he gestures with his hand. He writes down one more word, pushing then pen down so hard he knows it will imprint on ever other page in the notebook. A permanence in this one word alone. “This last one here means something else. “

He mimics the gesture, the one word they bothered with creating  sign for already. “ _Same_?”

“No it means _us_. You and me.” _We’re doers_. “We.”


	10. piercings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virus has a secret he doesn't want Trip to discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this last month from a tumblr prompt, but I don't think many people saw it so hopefully this is "new" for most. I am working on another longfic for ViTri right now, and want to have 4-5 installments done before I start posting, so that should be out in early July! The prompt was simply ViTri with piercings, for an anon!

“Gonna be sore tomorrow.” Trip sighs as he peels off his coat and kicks off his boots. It’d been a long night, one that didn’t end as well as they’d hoped. At least they got the shipment back though, even if it meant another body thrown off the wharf.

Virus makes no effort to take anything off. “I feel like I broke a rib.”

“Might be bruised. You took a beating.”

“I’m no good at telling the difference, you know that.” For all the medical manuals he had torn through over the years, he’d always been strangely hopeless when it came to determining what was wrong with his own body, visiting the dentist half a dozen times a year with vague complaints of _something in my face hurts, fix it now_ , regardless of the cause.

“Want me to check?”

Virus nods before unbuttoning his coat. He hesitates then, biting his lower lip and frowning. “It’s uncomfortable to move my arms that much.”

“Just slide the coat off. I can tell over the shirt.”

“You’re limping a little,” he says then, unsure if he’s trying to detract attention from his own injury or if he’s genuinely interested in knowing if Trip is okay. With defense mechanisms left over from long ago, when it was always safer to hide pain, they aren’t used to revealing this much weakness.

“Yah. S'fine though unless you wanna check.” He can take a lot of abuse, Virus knows that well, unlike himself. Trip makes a clicking sound with his tongue at the rigidity of Virus’ arms as he gently tugs his jacket off.

“You don’t take care of yourself enough. I don’t want you useless tomorrow so I’ll have a look.” He knows now that he’s trying to distract Trip, to cause him to pay more attention to himself than to Virus, but he lets the younger man gently push him closer to the light as he speaks. There’s nothing he can do about it now, he reasons. It can’t be helped. And so he relaxes, drops his arms.

His hands are sure and steady, running slowly up his torso in a way that makes Virus forget to breathe. _He’s just checking for injuries, that’s all, that’s all, he might not even notice_. But he knows that is stupid, because as he runs his hands up his ricage, Trip exhales in a low whistle, blowing the hair from his eyes as he raises his eyebrows. His look of disbelief, exasperation, resignation, surprise - Trip doesn’t have many facial expressions, each one covering an array of emotions - as he touches a certain part of him.

Virus flinches before he can stop himself. An almost-imperceptible upward twitch of his shoulders as he narrows his right eye.

“That hurt?”

“I…” he trails off.

“When did you do that?”

“Uhm, few months ago.”

Trip doesn’t reply or move for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he slowly, deliberately, runs the pad of his thumb over the bar through his nipple again. As he does he squeezes his torso gently, sliding his left hand up to hover over his other side. “You got both done?”

“Yea. So my ribs are fine then? Just bruised? I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he grins, and he knows he’s doing it again. Talking nervously, words spilling out of him in such a way that only ever seems to happen around Trip, in their moments of accidental intimacy when something stirs low in his gut that he isn’t prepared to face.

“They’re fine,” and with that Trip moves, unbuttoning his shirt with a brutally self-assured rapidity.

For one horrifying moment, Virus almost lets him. He almost lets Trip pull his shirt off, almost slides into his arms and lets him do as he wishes. But the moment is gone as quickly as it surfaces - he has lived long with this temptation. “Ah ah,” he slaps his hands away, steps back before he can give in.

“Boring…” Trip sighs.

And as Virus can feel the blood faintly coloring his face, he is thankful for the dim lighting in the room. “They’re still too sensitive for…” he finally shrugs, regretting the motion even as it happens and he gasps and hisses.

“How ‘bout I see if you got visible bruising, then?” the younger man smirks, palms up as he feigns innocence. “Won’t touch anything.”

Virus scowls, but he is ever undone by that crooked smile, the lone dimple on his left cheek. He supposes he can’t hide them forever. “Fine.”

Trip nearly hums in satisfaction as he leans forward again, undoes the last two buttons and untucks his shirt, only to sit back and admire his handiwork. “Yep, gonna be bruised there.”

“Thanks,” but he makes no move to close his shirt. He can feel his gaze burning into him but he is paralyzed, helpless to stop it.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”  

The younger man leans forward again, this time ghosting his breath over his belly before glancing up, meeting his eyes as he asks, “What _exactly_ are they too sensitive for?”


End file.
